


Passion in a Bottle

by RavenXavier



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming of Age, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Role Reversal, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenXavier/pseuds/RavenXavier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Passion flows out of Grantaire's whole being as much as the wine does from the bottle he's always holding. Enjolras never feels more alive than when a bit of that passion is directed towards him. </p><p>(Or : Grantaire is trying very hard to change the world, and Enjolras can't see the point of it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passion in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mornmeril](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mornmeril/gifts).



> This is a gift for mornmeril, for the Enjoltaire Gift Exchange. You asked for "Role-reversal" and I was... Inspired. I hope that this is what you had in mind and that you will like it !! (Although if it wasn't at all what you expected, you are totally free to send me a message with more details and I'll do my best to write something else !). 
> 
> I am so, SO sorry for the mistakes you are going to find in this, because I didn't find a beta-reader, so this was just me ..>

* * *

 

**September ~**

 

This, Enjolras would decide much later, was entirely Combeferre's fault.

There were so many other things that he would have liked to do rather than sit in the middle of a crowd of overexcited, _idealistic,_ students waiting for their leader to preach about a better world. Enjolras despised humanity as a rule, but activists were generally even more annoying than the rest of human kind. The only exception he could think of was, of course, Combeferre, who, being his best (and only real) friend, _knew_ about these thoughts and yet had still asked Enjolras to accompany him tonight.

Enjolras owned so much to Combeferre than he couldn't find in himself to say no, knowing how important it was for him. A pity, really. Combeferre had no troubles speaking among these strangers (mostly because it turned out that he already knew some of them) : he was in his element. Everywhere around them, boys and girls were chatting about grand ideas like Equality and Freedom and, even worse, Revolution. Enjolras honestly couldn't understand how they could believe in what they were saying. It was like they had never put a foot out of their rooms in their whole life.

 “Enjolras !” A familiar, excited voice cried out.

Enjolras rised reluctantly his head. Marius Pontmercy, a fellow law student, was smiling at him in a “pleasantly surprised” kind of way and – dear god – walking towards him.

It wasn't that Marius Pontmercy was an horrible human being, or anything like that. Objectively, he was rather intelligent and definitely serious in his work, two qualities that Enjolras was rather fond of in an other person, but he was also strikingly alike to these cute, excited puppies that people love to adopt and, well, Enjolras never cared much for puppies.

“I didn't know you were interested in activism !” Marius said when he was close enough.

“That's because I'm not.” Enjolras replied calmly. “I'm only here because my friend, over here, didn't want to go to his first meeting alone.”

He pointed out Combeferre, who was talking to one of his friends (“I didn't know he would be there Enjolras, obviously” He had sighed earlier, but Enjolras, always a sceptic, couldn't entirely believe him).

Marius didn't seem put out by Enjolras's statement – Marius was rarely put out by by anything.

“Oh well.” He said. “ I'm sure you'll change your mind once you've heard Grantaire speak. Everyone becomes suddenly interested when he makes his speeches. He's late again, though.”

“Grantaire ?” Enjolras repeated. “I thought the leader of your band was Courfeyrac – or that ginger guy next to him.”

“Courfeyrac only wished he was the leader.” An amused voice answered behind them.

Marius and Enjolras turned around at the same time, both surprised. The man who just spoke was obviously older than them, but not by much. He wore a small, crooked smile on his lips and there was a warm light in his blue eyes when they fell on Enjolras.

“Grantaire !” Marius exclaimed. “Finally !”

“Are you going to give me an other lecture, Pontmercy ? Because, if I were you, I would give up already, seeing as the twenty previous ones failed to make me arrive in time..”

“But I thought that if someone wanted to keep hope, the trick was to never stop trying ?”

There was a glint of stupor in Grantaire's eyes before he laughed loudly.

"And now my own words are used against me !” He said, trying (and failing) to look outraged. “Well, at least now I know that you do listen to me, sometimes, instead of just dreaming of the _lovely_ Cosette and all the wicked things you would like to do with her.”

Marius's cheeks flushed deep red, but he put his most dignified face on and changed the subject without any subtlety :

You're very interesting when you speak of _social matters._ ” He declared. “I was just telling Enjolras that when you arrived. Enjolras is in Law with me – and apparently, he's not a big believer of our causes.”

Grantaire's attention came back on Enjolras, who felt strangely unnerved by his eager gaze. Frowning at his own uneasiness (a feeling he wasn't particularly used to have), he cleared his throat and repeated again :

“I'm here for a friend. Combeferre. He's the one really interested in what you do.”

“Oh, yes ! Courfeyrac made me read his paper on what is capitalism and if it's really just an economic policy ; brilliant stuff. I'd love to talk to him. Which one is he ?”

“Are there so many new faces here that you can't deduct that by yourself ?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire snorted : “I'm really just too lazy to look. Besides, it's actually really hard to keep my eyes off you long enough to search for him. You're very pretty. Which I'm sure you're already aware of.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, unimpressed, which curiously made Grantaire grin wider (which made him quite attractive himself, but Enjolras was definitely not thinking about that).

“Maybe you should start the meeting, now ?” Marius awkwardly suggested after a brief silence where Enjolras and Grantaire just stared at each other.

“I really should.” Grantaire nodded gravely before grinning again. “Give me a beer and let's hope that we are going to please our newcomers tonight !”

Everyone stopped what they were doing when Grantaire called them out. He told them that the subject of tonight conversation was the last law that the government was trying to pass despite the protest of the majority of the universities.

From there, one of the most annoying and boring hour of Enjolras's life passed, during which each person spoke his mind out loud, and the rest of his friends approved excitedly or began to shout angrily. Combeferre was a calm but active participant and a lot of students started to move closer to him with warm and welcoming smiles.

Enjolras wished he had brought some of his work with him, or a book – hell, he wished he could write or draw, or just enjoy to drink to occupy his hands and his mind. Instead, he just watched Grantaire, who had stayed silent for the majority of the discussion since it had begun. The man didn't seem to have Enjolras's reticence with alcohol at all ; two empty glasses had joined his first beer during the hour, and he was now playing with a new can. His cheeks were pinker and his eyes much brighter than before, but his gaze was still very serious and focused.

Just as Enjolras was thinking that a drunk and silent leader couldn't be as good as he was said to be, an violent argument broke between two students. Courfeyrac patted them both on the shoulders with a carefully constructed bright smile on his lips.

“Now, now, my friends, we're a peaceful crowd here, as R likes to remind Bahorel every day.”

“Shame on him !” A tall, bulky student shouted out with a large grin. “But come on, R, if you're gonna keep your ridiculous rule about not fighting during meetings, then you _should_ at least provide us with one of your tirades ! Try to make it worth while, would you ?”

“Ah.” Grantaire sighed theatrically. “The people ask and so I must obey.”

He rose gracefully from his chair and his entire posture seemed to shift. A second ago he had been nothing but an ordinary man, well on his way to get drunk, but now he looked exactly like a benevolent king ready to indulge the masses ; His back straightened, his eyes became vibrant with energy and he waved the can of beer he was still holding towards the rest of the students.

“My dear friends,” He began with a clear, sympathetic voice, “I see you fighting, and It's making me sad, which is exactly why we have a rule about fighting in those meetings ; Bahorel will tell you that this is because I'm a tyran but please do not listen to him, because of course the mortel incarnation of good old Ares would not appreciate that I choose words when it is so easy to settle difficult matters with fists. Yet let's look at the world for a minute ; the word is fond of picking fights ; our nation, in all its glorious history, chose to use his fists far more often than its words. Was it necessary ? A couple of times, maybe ! I will not concede much more because I am myself a lover of words. I am not unrealistic – the reality of our lives is that we cannot change most things without violence – but I will not, I will never use violence when I know that my words can be enough. In fact, I will probably use words until I have no other choices than to resort to violence. What a charming, naïve little fool, you think ! Why – first, thank you for the charming part – ”

Grantaire offered a blinding smile to the students, who all laughed appropriedly. Enjolras didn't even smile. Something had burst in his chest as he watched the man delivering his speech, a violent sort-of emotion who left him breathless as if he had just been punched (and how ironic was that ?). He felt dizzy. A cold shiver ran through his spine. The voice of Grantaire had invaded his mind without any warning and his whole body appeared to be confused about the attack – was he supposed to defend himself against the warmth or embrace it like an old friend he had long forgotten ?

“ Wars are not useful ; they are not what we need, they never were but we, humans, have troubles at times realizing that we are beautiful beings who should rise above an archaïc, brutal society where it is acceptable for a little boy to pick on little girls because _that's what little boys do,_ where violence is deemed more acceptable on T.V. Than sex. See, I'm a lover myself.”

Grantaire's eyes fell once more on Enjolras. Enjolras didn't know what he saw, but it must have been pleasant, because he smiled again – just a little curl of his lips this time, discreet but obviously happy – before he continued his speech. The complete belief in his voice, the sheer passion that flows out of his whole body, that excited gleam in his blues eyes, were all things that Enjolras had mocked in others mere minutes before. There wasn't any difference, he told himself quietly, almost angrily.

Grantaire chose that exact moment to jump on his chair, quoting loudly Thoreau in a vibrant exclamation. Enjolras leaned despite himself on the table, and _listened._

 

~

The following Friday evening, Combeferre asked carefully : “Do you want to come to the meeting ?”

Enjolras kept firmly his eyes on his computer. “Thank you, but I think we established long ago that this isn't the sort of social gathering I enjoy.”

Combeferre didn't sigh or show any disappointement, of course. He was good like that. They both pretended that Enjolras hadn't been agitated for the whole week. They also both ignored that there wasn't really _any_ social gathering that Enjolras enjoyed anyway – This one certainly wasn't new.

 

* * *

 

**October ~**

 

Somehow, it was only when Enjolras spotted the black curls of Grantaire that he realized his steps had lead him to the Musain despite himself.

The vision of the man, who was sitting carelessly at the bar, a book in his hand and a glass of what appeared to be orange juice in front of him, complety froze him. It's been a little more than three weeks since that unfortunate meeting, and Enjolras had just started to forget how Grantaire's voice had sounded – and the incomfortable, powerful effect that it had on _him._ Finding him now felt like a bad joke from the universe.

“Are you planning to move ?” A girl asked from behind him.

Enjolras blinked and took a step aside. “Sorry.” He said.

The girl nodded briskly and went to the bar to ask for a coffee. Grantaire looked up from his book, which unfortunately meant that he saw Enjolras too, who half-thought of running before reminding himself that he had nothing to run from – Obviously there was no way Grantaire would remember...

“Enjolras !” The man said with a little, delighted smirk.

Thanks to years of practice, Enjolras managed to keep his face straight and not gape at him with bewilderement. Instead, he cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow :

“Not only do you recognize my face, but you also remember my name. I'm impressed ?”

“Don't be.” Grantaire answered. “Told you last time we met, you have a very pretty face, and it's always easier to remember those. Come sit with me ! What are you doing here ? We didn't see you again, after that meeting, I thought you had decided to stay away from that café forever because we had bored you to death with our discussions.”

It was a bad idea, Enjolras thought vaguely as he walked towards Grantaire and took the sit next to him.

“I told you I didn't really have any interest in what you think you're doing in the first place.” He pointed out.

“I know.” Grantaire agreed. “But I had the foolish hope that maybe we will be able to change that.”

“You seem to have a lot of foolish hopes.” Enjolras retorted.

Grantaire snorted. “Dear god, you _are_ quite the cynic, aren't you ? Here, take a drink, let's not talk about such serious subjects so soon in the morning without a little booster first.”

Enjolras took a sip of the drink he was offered and made a disgusted face as soon as he realized that this was definitely _not_ orange juice (or, well, not _just_ at least).

“There's vodka in that.”

“I know.”

“It's _ten in the morning._ ”

“I know.” Grantaire repeated with a smirk but his eyes were suddenly less warm and more careful, as if he expected Enjolras to start a sermon of some sort. Enjolras didn't say anything and, in fact, hide his bitterness quite well – there, he thought. There was the proof was Grantaire was no better than any other man, despite the rightness of his words ; he was charming, yes. He was so good that even Enjolras, for a brief instant...

“Had I known that alcohol made you so gloomy, I would have just bought you a cup of coffee.” Grantaire remarked lightly.

Enjolras pursed his lips. “I'm not fond of drinking.”

“... And you made that quite obvious. Can I offer you coffee, then ?”

“I should go, actually.”

“You just arrived.” Grantaire remarked. “If I am bothering you, you are free to have a cup of coffee on your own – there are several empty tables far away enough from the bar.”

“You look as if you expected me to react this way.” Enjolras said without moving.

“I held no delusion about my own charm.” Grantaire shrugged.

“Surprising, considering the mass of students who worship the ground you walk on.”

“Ah !” The man smiled fondly. “But they are fools, aren't they ? At least I'm pretty sure that's how many like you see them all – see _us_ all.”

“If you know that, then why do you keep doing all that stuff ? How can you even believe that you can change things in a society that doesn't take any of you seriously ?”

Grantaire looked at him with a quiet, intense gaze. He seemed to understand that Enjolras's question wasn't only a provocation – that somewhere, in some dark corner of his mind, he was genuinely curious to know ; he was expecting a serious answer and Grantaire provided him with one.

“Here's the thing, Enjolras – we are going to be considered fools until we are too many to be so easily dismissed anymore. History had proved it before ; if you are a majority, you can have the power ; once you have the power, you can use it for good. It is just a matter of finding the dissident voices that live trapped in our dreadful society and offering them to help us make a change. They are so many more than we think, out there. I'm doing this because of these people ; knowing that they exist give me hope of a better future for all of us – it is only fair that I give them back that hope whenever I can, and if it means that I have to take the lead of a group of students and make speeches, well, why not ? I do like to talk quite a bit. And I know that every single person I can convince to help is a step towards a new world – it's a rather addicting feeling, watching someone become _aware._ I'm not sure I could stop, even if I wanted to.”

“Is it what I am, then ?” Enjolras asked. “An other person you want to _convince_?”

Grantaire smiled gently. “I think you want to be.”

There was so many things that Enjolras could have answered to that, starting by _“that's ridiculous”_ but his words completely failed him and he just stared at Grantaire with the face he couldn't help but wore every times he felt unsettled – it wasn't a particularly nice face and he knew it. Once, one of his cousin had told him that he was absolutely terrifying when he looked like that.

Grantaire didn't look scared at all. He patted Enjolras's hand, and finished his drink in one long gulp before rising up from his sit.

“There. I am the one who leaves, you look as if you need to think. Do me a favor ? Try to give Les Amis a second chance. Come to our meeting, Friday. It'd be nice to have you, really.”

 

~

To his own complete surprise, Enjolras followed Combeferre that Friday to the Musain. He kept arguing with himself during the whole journey and it must have shown on his face, because his best friend stayed thankfully silent next to him until they reached the cafe.

Enjolras sat slightly apart from the others while Combeferre was greeted with warm enthusiasm. He felt edgy and he loathed the feeling without managing to make it disappear. He watched silently everyone else babbled happily about something or another – he knew what he was waiting ; he knew _who_ he was waiting (how embarrassing it was).

But Grantaire finally arrived (late, once again) and when he looked at the students, he didn't overlooked Enjolras. In fact, he beamed at him, visibly genuinely pleased by his presence.

Enjolras's heart skipped a beat.

He began to follow Combeferre to every meetings after that night.

 

~ 

What Enjolras hadn't expected was to attract the attention of the other students. He came to the meetings, yes, but he never talked (because they were all so _ridiculous_ and he couldn't think of something to say that wouldn't be understood as an insult). In fact, he mostly read while they spoke (at least he tried to – he generally gave up once Grantaire opened his mouth).

Yet soon enough they all began to speak to him. Courfeyrac was the first, which wasn't really surprising, seeing as they knew each other already from Law school. Enjolras, who had always dismissed Courfeyrac has having the mentality of a five year-old and the sex drive of some sort of predator, discovered that the man was actually capable of being serious and talking about all kind of subjects. His constant and warm friendliness was suprisingly easy to accept.

With Courfeyrac came Jehan, who was impossible to dislike. Jehan was soft-spoken and shy and wrote endlessly ; he offered smiles to everyone who talked to him but rarely gave his opinion until a particular subject caught his attention. When he did give his opinion, he lost all pretense of shyness and defended his point of view with a fierce passion that left everyone a little bit in love with him.

Joly was a close friend of Combeferre. He started to speak to Enjolras the day Combeferre had the misfortune to catch a cold, enquiering about their friend's health – and then examining Enjolras anxiously to see if he was sick too. He laughed a lot in between his numerous examinations, walked with a cane of all things, and made the most random remarks at the strangest of times (it generally took a lot of reflexion for the others to understand the actually perfect relevance of those). Joly was inseparable of Lesgle, or Bossuet, as everyone called him. Bossuet was always calm and happy ; His never-ending patience was only matched by his perpetual bad luck, which didn't seem to bother him that much. He was an incredibly pragmatic man – Enjolras, surrounded by idealists, quickly became fond of Lesgle's compagny.

Feuilly was – Feuilly was remarkable man, whose story and character constantly amazed Enjolras. Even he, now offically known as “the resident cynic of our group”, couldn't help but admire Feuilly's strong convictions, his eagerness to learn and teach in return, his determination to always do _more_ and change things instead of complaining about the conditions he has to live in, and the simple fact that he managed to escape the social hell he grew up in, in the first place. Feuilly was a kind and simple man with witty remarks and cigarettes on the tip of his lips – he was also, with Courfeyrac, Grantaire's second in command without a doubt.

The most surprising thing about all this, Enjolras supposed, was that he ended up talking even with the people he should have had absolutely _nothing_ to talk about with. Bahorel was loud and rowdy and seemed to live only to fight – but he was also fiercely protective and loyal to his friends and he never bothered to lie because he didn't give a damn about what people thought of him ; he was the most honest person that Enjolras had ever met. Cosette was intolerably _nice._ She was pretty and sweet and acted like a caring mother to everyone ; She was also extremely intelligent and curious and _cunning._ There wasn't a thing that she couldn't get people to do for her – it was a scary thought, but Enjolras could appreciate her special power.

Eponine was something else entirely. She didn't speak much, but when she did, it was cutting and spot on. She didn't come at every meetings. She was rude and loving all at once, she teased and she glared both, she kissed cheeks and slapped heads. She was Grantaire's favourite. Enjolras had troubles warming up to her.

In the span of a month, all these people suddenly entered Enjolras's life in their own way, and they refused to leave it, even though they knew of his opinions on what they were doing. They appeared to _like_ him, which was a bit overwhelming for someone who had only ever had _one_ friend in his life before. Perhaps even more stunning was the fact that Enjolras began to like them back.

Enjolras didn't _like_ people. And yet, when he said “yes” to Courfeyrac's invitation to his Halloween Party without thinking about it, only pleased to know that he would see les Amis in a different context that their meetings, he realized for the first time that he cared about that group of students far more than he had ever cared for anyone, apart from Combeferre.

It was a scary, scary thought.

 

~ 

Maybe that's why he found himself locked up on Courfeyrac's tiny balcony the night of the party. Maybe it was just too _much._

Maybe it was not enough.

Enjolras didn't bother to open his eyes when he heard the door opening. Smokers had decided to go downstairs when they wanted a cigarette at the beginning of the evening, and nobody else would have been crazy enough to go outside during such a cold night. Which meant that the person who opened the door was checking on him, and there was only one person who usually did that.

“I'm fine, Combeferre.” He muttered. “You really don't need to –”

“Sorry, it's just me.” Grantaire's now familiar voice answered. “You don't look fine. You look like you're going to freeze to death really soon.”

“I don't mind the cold.” Enjolras said, trying not to show any surprise or how much _happy_ he was to see Grantaire.

Without any doubt, Grantaire was _too much._ Enjolras had been proud to say since he was thirteen years-old – at least to himself – that he knew exactly who he was, and who he was going to be. Grantaire challenged everything he thought about his own mind and character, letting behind his passage a whole different person, someone both open and insecure, someone who _cared_ with such an intensity that he was incapable of hiding it (something he was usually so good at).

But caring – caring _hurts._ He had learned that a long time ago.

His heart beat too fast in his chest when Grantaire snorted and sat next to him. His whole body _burned_ as their shoulders and legs touched. Breathing became difficult, too, when he realized that if he turned his head right now, only mere inches would separated their mouths. Caring was physically painful, and Enjolras wished very hard, as he looked stubbornely right in front of him, that Grantaire thought that the pink of his cheeks was due to the cold, and not to their new proximity.

“Isn't it better like this ?” Grantaire asked gleefully.

 _No,_ Enjolras thought.

“Why are you here ?” He asked instead.

“I'm drunk.” Grantaire said as if it was a valid explaination (it wasn't. Enjolras by now had learnt that Grantaire was drunk most of the time. It should have been more annoying that it was, really). “You haven't dressed up for the party.”

“I didn't see the point.” He replied.

“The point is that it's _fun._ ”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but stayed silent.

“How old are you, Enjolras ?” Grantaire asked after a while.

“I'm nineteen.”

“Nineteen.” the man repeated. He sound almost amazed. “Nineteen, and you can't see the point of having fun – it's so wrong. Do you even know _how_ to have fun ?”

Enjolras turned his head despite himself and glared at his companion : “Of course I do !”

“What do you do, then ?”

“I play the piano.” He answered curtly. “I ride. I read. I –”

“All right, all right.” Grantaire interruped him. “What do you do for fun with _people_?”

Enjolras hesitated : “I ride with Combeferre, sometimes.” He said. “Or we just go out and walk and talk.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone ?”

The question seemed to come from nowhere. It did strange things to Enjolras's stomach, who realized with horror that he _had_ turned his head and that he had been right when thinking about the distance between Grantaire's lips and his. His cheeks reddened some more, but he kept a firm grip on himself, and stared defiantly at the amused blue eyes layed on him.

“No.” He replied.

“You don't see the point of it ?” Grantaire smirked.

“I've never been... Nobody ever caught my attention like this.” Enjolras said.

“Never ?”

 _Not until you_ , was the honest response to this – it was also an answer he loathed to give. What good would it do, to admit to Grantaire that he couldn't control his own body around him ? For what he had observed, it didn't looked as if he had a lack of suitors in his life ; why would he care about Enjolras... Lusting after him ?

“Never.” He declared strongly.

“Kissing people is fun.” Grantaire remarked lightly.

His gaze had gone intense again ; he was scrutanizing Enjolras's face with deep attention, and Enjolras didn't know what he was seeing, and it was incredibly frustrating.

“I'm sure it is.” He said.

“Would you like to try ?”

Grantaire raised his hand and put it carefully around Enjolras's jaw.

“What are you doing ?” Enjolras whispered frantically.

Grantaire didn't answer. He smiled his painfully gentle smile, the one who made a mess of Enjolras's emotions, and then moved his head. His lips brushed Enjolras's like the lightest of caresses and before the blond man could do anything about it, they were already gone.

“What...” He tried to ask again.

“The point is that it's fun.” Grantaire whispered.

This time, he kissed Enjolras's nose. Then, his entire expression changed back to a drunken and joyful one, and he got up quickly, offering his hand to Enjolras.

“Come now ! The party is far from over. I think Courfeyrac is planning to put you on a dress and let's be honest, you're not even going to be embarassed because you'd make a very lovely girl.”

At this very instant, Enjolras hated Grantaire with his entire being.

 

* * *

 

**November ~**

 

Nothing changed.

Everything did.

Grantaire didn't kiss him again and they didn't talk about it at all. Instead, Enjolras decided to start giving his opinion during the heated discussions in the Musain. Those two facts were _not_ related, or so he tried to convince himself every times he couldn't help but open his mouth and watched Grantaire growing more and more annoyed as the month passed.

There was a strange, bitter exhilaration in Enjolras's chest when their leader turned angry eyes towards him and burst into an improvised impassionate speech about how _wrong_ he was to mock everything they did. Grantaire was usually so _casual_ with everything he did, so prompt to smile easily and dismiss insults, that it felt like a victory to make him as frustrated with Enjolras as Enjolras was with him.

Of course, it meant that he annoyed the rest of the students to a certain extent too but – well, as much as he appreciated their company, they all knew that he wasn't like _them._ Obviously it would have been foolish to expect him to become close friends with them, and Enjolras didn't _have_ foolish dreams and hopes ; that was the whole point, wasn't it ?

So he continued to point out the holes in Grantaire's speeches, and Grantaire continued to give him irritated answers. Eponine rolled her eyes at both of them and whispered things in Combeferre's ears. Bahorel and Feuilly took their distance with him. Jehan sighed a lot. Courfeyrac looked at Enjolras as if he knew exactly what was going on in his mind which meant that Enjolras carefully began to avoid him as much as he could (and discovered that he almost missed him, which was a rather strange feeling).

Courfeyrac didn't try to speak to him. However, Combeferre finally stopped staying silent after a particularly harsh argument during a meeting.

“Have you considered that there are maybe other ways to attract Grantaire's attention ?” He asked calmly after they had gotten back to their flat.

Enjolras froze. “I don't know what you mean.” He answered stiffly.

“Are you really going to play this game with me, Enjolras ?”

“We have nothing in common.” He insisted despite himself. “Our opinions clash about _everything._ So we argue. That's it.”

“I have the same views as Grantaire for the most part.” Combeferre remarked. “And yet we have argue only once during our whole friendship. I also never saw you argue with Courfeyrac who is as vocal as our leader about his beliefs.”

“I _like_ you, Combeferre. I like Courfeyrac too, surprisingly.”

"And you despise Grantaire ?”

“Very much so.” Enjolras declared with as much conviction as he could muster, which apparently didn't convince his best friend at all.

Combeferre offered him a small, almost sad smile, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I think you despise him _a little too much_ , then, my friend, and you should admit your own feelings, at least to yourself. Maybe even try to talk to him about it, before something really goes wrong.”

 

~ 

It turned out that Combeferre was right, although Enjolras didn't acknowledge that until something _actually_ went wrong.

In the last days of November, Les Amis, tired of listening to the militants against gay marriage at every damn hour in every medias of France, decided to hold a counter-protest which would take place at the beginning of Dicember. That Friday, they began to plan with febrile excitement their pamphlets, their signs and even what they were going to say if they were interrogated by journalists.

Enjolras, who had watched _like everyone else_ how bad the last counter-protest had gone, was baffled by their actions. Trying not to think about what they were getting themselves into, he had decided to sit in a corner and was reading when Courfeyrac had the misfortune to call him out.

“Enjolras ! Aren't you going to help ?” He asked loudly.

Enjolras looked up from the book with a somewhat bemused air. Everybody else glanced at Courfeyrac like he had somehow lost his mind (which maybe he had, for all Enjolras knew).

“Why should I ?” He retorted. “I'm not participating to your madness.”

“You're not coming ?!” Joly wondered, clearly surprised. “I thought... I mean, why ?”

The feverish athmosphere of the room seemed to shift ; suddenly, all eyes were on Enjolras, as if waiting for him to give a clear explanation ; it was somewhat unfair, he thought in the privacy of his mind. Why should he have to do that ? Surely they _knew_ already. Why did they want him to say out loud something that would upset them ? For a brief moment, he hesitated – Combeferre looked wary already, which definitely wasn't good.

Yet when Enjolras saw that Grantaire had already returned to his quiet discussion with Feuilly over the plans of the streets of Paris, he straightened up and declared, almost defiantly :

“I don't see the point.”

“Of course you don't.” Courfeyrac sighed, with a wry smile, shaking his head. “Why would you see the point in a peaceful protest against unfair discrimination ?”

Enjolras gritted his teeth – and then, suddenly, he was rising up :

“Because there _isn't_ a point !” He said, loudly. “You all pretend like your protest is going to change things, and I wonder how you can all be so naïve ! Protests don't do anything ; if they _did,_ then the government would have banned the idea of gay marriage by now, because the antis are obviously louder with their displeasure. You say you have a voice – clearly nobody does, not really ! They have decided that this law will pass – they're just pretending to think about it to apaise the most hateful ones out there. Who should you be trying to convince ? The members of the Parliament. Would they listen to you ? Of course not ; their minds are made, and they won't change it for some students. Politicians are stubborn and egoist like that. Screw that, _people_ are stubborn and egoist like that. So no, Courfeyrac. I do not see the point ! I think that what you do is foolish and stupidely dangerous. Is that what you wanted to hear from me ?”

For a second there was a silence. Enjolras wasn't as good as Grantaire when it come to speeches – he lacked his unnatural passion and belief – but he was still a future lawyer. He knew how to boost his voice, how to make his ideas clear and heard. Maybe he even had a bit of talent with wording, when he wanted to. Les Amis weren't a jury he could convince, though ; it was a trial that he was never going to win.

Bahorel, who had been in a fool, excited mood all night, had apparently decided that Enjolras would be a good person to spend his extra energy on. Fists closed, eyes dark with intent, he rise up too from his chair :

“All right, words will never convince you, I propose we...”

“No, Bahorel.” Grantaire cut sharply.

"What ?” Bahorel protested with almost child-like anger.

“Enjolras here doesn't believe that we have a voice. He doesn't believe that people care, and I'm sure he's not arrogant enough to think of himself as an exception. Which means that by his own conclusion, his voice and his words aren't important either. Leave him be ; he isn't worth our fists or even our time. Let him wallow in his own cynism and come here, Feuilly needs your expertise.”

Grantaire hadn't even raised his eyes. His voice was calm, almost indifferent, and he could have punched Enjolras that it wouldn't have been able to hurt him so much. All air seemed to desert him. He felt dizzy and so utterly embarassed by the fact that it wasn't hard to grab his book and his coat with shaky hands. It wasn't hard to leave without any other words.

It _wasn't hard_ to leave these imbeciles behind, to put as much distant as he could between Grantaire and himself. It wasn't hard –

Combeferre found him an hour later when he came back to their flat. Enjolras was still shaking – with hurt, with anger, maybe with disappointement – curled up on the couch. His friend barely got out of his own coat before sitting next to him and embraced him gently. Enjolras closed his eyes and hide his head in his neck.

“No 'I told you so' ?” He whispered bitterly.

“Never.” Combeferre whispered back, kissing the top of his head.

 

* * *

 

**Dicember ~**

 

The protest went wrong, as Enjolras expected it would.

He didn't go, obviously, but he couldn't help but put the T.V on to watch the events, even from afar. It wasn't long until Grantaire came into view, glorious in his righteous anger. Feuilly wasn't far from him, a silent but imposant vigilant. Enjolras caught Courfeyrac in the middle of the crowd, singing and shouting in turn with large smiles and a lot of warm gestures for the people who had joined them.

All eyes were turned towards Grantaire, and the cameras followed. It looked as if he was in trance. His worlds were louder than anyone else's. He was looking at everyone with something akin to pure _understanding_ and belief, as if there was nothing that these people could do to shake his faith in them and what he was saying. He made wild gestures with his hands and seemed to capture all the existing energy to dispense it all over again to his listeners.

For one, breathless moment, Enjolras wished he was there, ready to receive whatever he could – ready to believe that Grantaire and Les Amis and those who had followed them _could_ make a difference. Bu then, something – he didn't know what exactly, because the _wasn't there –_ hit Grantaie violently, making him stumble backwards. Someone screamed.

The crowd, who have been happy and enthusiastic a second ago, turned into some sort of angry mob in a matter of minutes.

Enjolras was rising before he even knew it, and it was only once he was on the streets that he realized he had no idea of what he was supposed to do. Going there now would help no one. Maybe they would –

He had never felt so helpless before. He began to walk without knowing exactly where he was going (except he knew ; he was walking towards the Musain, even if he knew they wouldn't be there). The café was in view when he got a call from Combeferre.

“Where are you ?” Enjolras asked immediately.

“I am... Well, I'm in jail.” Combeferre answered, his voice a strange mixture of embarrassment, pride, and tiredness.

“... What ?”

“In jail.” His friend repeated. “I was hoping you could come to bail me out ?”

“I... Yes. All right. Just give me the address, I'll come.” He hesitated and continued : “Are you alone ?”

“Courfeyrac, Eponine and Grantaire are with me.”

_Of course._

“Just give me the address.” He said.

Combeferre did and half and hour later Enjolras was looking at his best friend, clearly tired but smiling at him. Grantaire, Courfeyrac and Eponine had followed him.

“Did you pay for us too, Enjolras ?” Courfeyrac asked, delighted.

“Seemed a waste of time to come only for one.” Enjolras answered with half a smile.

“Should I feel insulted ?” Combeferre grinned.

You didn't have to do that.” Eponine said briskly. “They would have let us go soon, anyway. We didn't do anything wrong.”

"We didn't.” Grantaire agreed. “But it's nice not to have to spend the night here anyway. Thank you, Enjolras.”

“You're welcome.” Enjolras muttered.

“We wouldn't have spent the night, you drama queen !” Courfeyrac exclaimed, linking his arm with Enjolras's. “We have other friends who would have taken pity of us, I'm sure. But thank you for being quick, anyway, my dear, wonderful new best friend.”

“Marius is going to be heartbroken.” Grantaire snorted. “Or is it Jehan ? Stop having new best friends, Courfeyrac, you're being greedy.”

“And you're being unnecessarly snappish, R.”

“That would be because I need a fucking drink.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. Grantaire saw him.

“Something to say ?” He asked.

Courfeyrac's grip tightened on Enjolras's arm, which didn't stop the blond from answering : “I'm not surprised, that's all.”

“Of what ? Of the protest turning into a riot ? Of _me_ ? Is your disdain for humanity satisfied for today, then ?”

“Grantaire..” Eponine sighed

A part of Enjolras wanted to ignore him and his clear provocation. It was obvious that Grantaire was disappointed and he wanted to be angry at s _omeone_ and, well, wasn't Enjolras the perfect target ? It was playing his game to answer to him but at the same time, it was hard to forget that he was angry too. He was angry because it was easier to admit than the fact he had been so _worried_ before. He was angry because there were still spots of dried blood on Grantaire's face and Combeferre was slightly limping, although he was good at hiding it.

He was so fucking angry.

“Well, you do make it easy, don't you ?” He retorted coldly. “I wonder how you all thought that it would go okay – a counter-protest lead by an alcoholic ! What a perfect plan !”

Grantaire stopped walking abruptly, and so did Courfeyrac, Eponine and Combeferre. Enjolras's insides twisted with incomfort and guilt, but he kept a firm gaze on Grantaire.

“I'm sorry.” He added. “Is that taboo ? Are we not supposed to talk about that ?”

“Enjolras...” Combeferre warned softly.

Enjolras didn't look at him – he couldn't. Grantaire's eyes stayed on him for what seemed like a small eternity – he only wished he could understand what was hiding behind. Was he hurt or angry ? Was he disappointed or furious ? Was he simply _resigned_? (he had been before. Enjolras remembered – the first time, with the wodka and the orange juice...)

And then suddenly Grantaire was gone. He left quickly, without a word, immediately followed by Eponine. Enjolras tried to remember to breath normally (why was it that it was becoming so hard to breathe around this man ?).

“O-kay, this is not a good day.” Courfeyrac muttered. “I'll see you soon, guys. If I could I'd stay, but right now isn't... Anyway, I'll try to pass sometimes in the week.”

“Don't feel obliged.” Enjolras muttered back.

“You're such an idiot.” Courfeyrac said fondly.

 

~ 

Maybe Enjolras _was_ an idiot, but he had no times to properly think about it during the next two weeks, focusing instead all his energy on finals. He barely came out of the flat when he didn't have to go to the university and therefore didn't see Les Amis again, apart from Marius, briefly, who was _'almost positively sure'_ he had aced his last paper and Cosette, who hugged him, of all things, wishing him good luck for _'everything'_ which, he guessed, was her way to say 'all your tests'.

Courfeyrac, however, kept his word and showed up of his doorstep in the middle of Finals Week, because he had to have the worst timing of everyone Enjolras knew.

"Enjolras.” He said, very seriously. “I am here to formally invite you to my New Year's Eve Party. It's a casual event, don't worry – only Les Amis will be here, with their plus one, if they have one.”

“That's nice.” Enjolras answered. “But I'm not one of Les Amis.”

“Of course you are.” Courfeyrac retorted.

“I don't remember signing any paper making it official.” He pointed out. “And since I don't come to your meetings anymore...”

“Paper ? Dear god, Enjolras, you're our _friend_ , that makes you one of us, that's it.”

“Am I ?” He blurted out.

He regretted it immediately, but it was too late. Courfeyrac let out a baffled snort and put his arm around Enjolras's waist.

“I'm going to be very frank right now, and wonder out loud how in _hell_ did you manage life without me before ! I mean, I don't doubt that Combeferre was very good to you, but clearly he forgot to teach you how friendship works with _other_ people than your weird, psychic, platonic soulmate or whatever you two are ! Luckily for you, I'm a _master_ of friendship and this is how it happens : you meet people ; you click ; you spend time with them, getting to know them better ; they start invading your life and your apartment and before you know it, they mock you endlessly for everything but they love you and would do anything for you if you needed help or just a wingman, or whatever.”

Enjolras frowned. “I don't...”

“Oh, yes you do.” Courfeyrac interrupted him.

“You don't even know what I was going to _say._ ”

“You were going to say something about us not being friends, and I can't agree. You were going to say something about _having nothing in common_ or something dumb like that. So maybe we don't, at first glance. But I saw you eating that whole bag of _Fraises Tagada_ last month with Bossuet. Also Jehan says that you always let him borrow your arm when he doesn't have any paper left to write on, despite his inspiration. You manage to _calm_ Joly down after he had a panic attack, something which is usually reserved to Bossuet and Musichetta and nobody else. You let Marius sleep on your couch when he thought that I was going to steal Cosette away from him. You bought lunch for Feuilly three weeks after meeting him just because you _could_ and he didn't have received his salary yet. Must I go on ?”

“You made your point.” Enjolras sighed.

“Good.” Courfeyrac beamed at him. “So, you'll come ?”

“I'm supposed to be at my parents's. But, I don't know, maybe.”

“All I heard was yes !” Courfeyrac grinned.

Enjolras smiled back despite himself.

 

~ 

Enjolras had fallen in love with Paris years ago, when he was still a boy. He knew instinctively that it was the city he wanted to spend his life in, something that had made his father very happy at the time, because he had thought his son had already realized, despite being eight, that Paris was the city of opportunities and success. It wasn't that at all, of course ; Young Enjolras had loved the streets and the noises and the monuments and the people – at that time, the word _success_ hadn't yet push itself at the top of his priorities in his brain. Enjolras still liked the city, although his childish adoration for it had faded over the years.

He loved Paris – but Perpignan was his childhood home, a sunny refuge that was always ready to welcome him back with arms wide opened. Coming back to his parents's house felt good, although it was undermined by some lingering tension at the idea of seeing his father. It wasn't that he was a bad man, of course. He had just big plans for Enjolras's future, and Enjolras couldn't help but think that what he did was never quite _enough._

The best part of Perpignan, however, was Pegase, his horse. Pegase had been his first confident when he had been eleven and _lonely_ and he didn't understand yet why the other kids didn't like him. Pegase was the only one who could help Enjolras, even now, to forget all his troubles. 

He spent most of the first week of winter holidays riding. The wind was strong, although it was obviously not snowing, and his nose soon took a constant pink color, which made his father rolled his eyes. Enjolras didn't care for the cold, and even less for his nose. He had missed this more than he had thought.

Christmas was a quiet affair (as much as it could be, at least, with two snobbish aunts, three louds uncles, an half-insane grand-mother, and six little cousins). Enjolras answered dutifully every questions about his Future and tried not to think about how _dull_ he sounded when he said it out loud. He had never thought about that before – Les Amis had influenced him without him even noticing, but it wasn't so nice to have that relevation during a diner with his family who were (and how had he not realize it before ?) some of the dullest people he had ever met (and he had met a lot).

That night, Tatiana, one of his cousins (and maybe his favourite with Juliette) interrupted rather abruptly one of her father's usual complaints on taxes by asking Enjolras why he had cut his hair.

Enjolras blinked : “Well.” He answered. “I wasn't sure it would be a good look for Law School. I've been thinking of letting them grow again, though.”

“Nobody will take you seriously as a lawyer if you insist on having that girlish look, Enjolras.” His father said, frowning slightly.

“Paul !” His mother exclaimed, slapping him softly on the shoulder. “I think it's nice, mon coeur. You have such wonderful hair.”

“It just hair.” Enjolras shrugged. “Besides, father, nobody will say anything about my _girlish look_ once they realized I'm good – and I intend to be _excellent_ so...”

“That I like to hear !” One of his uncles said loudly. “You ought to be proud, Paul – your son talks exactly like you did when you were his age.”

Enjolras quickly looked down, afraid that someone caught his sudden frown. He lost track of the conversation again, bothered by something he didn't quite know how to define. His father was a great, successful man – he had done wonderfully with the cards he had been given in life when he was young. He should have been proud to know that he was going in the same direction as his father, shouldn't he ?

“You look tired, sweetheart.” His mother whispered some time later.

“I am.” He admitted softly.

She smiled at him and kissed his forehead. “Go to bed, then. It's past midnight, anyway, and I think that most of them are too drunk to notice that you escaped.”

Enjolras glanced at the rest of his family. His uncle Henry was cackling madly in his cup of champagne. His aunt Sophie was covering her sleepy husband of kisses. His father was smiling and talking loudly of the day he had beat his ex-boss in a tennis match. He shook his head.

“What is it with people and drinking ?” He wondered out loud.

His mother, who shared his dislike for alcoholic beverages, shrugged elegantly : “I think it makes them feel happier.”

Enjolras stiffened a second before relaxing again. He rised up and kissed his mother's cheek. “Right. Goodnight, mum.”

“Goodnight, mon coeur.”

Once he was in bed, it turned out to be impossible to find sleep. His mind kept going back to the boring discussions he had had with his uncles, how Tatiana and Juliette had laughed and avoided the adults as best as they could during the day, except him, and how his other cousins had already sounded so much like their parents. He thought of how empty he had felt, and, in constrast, how _alive_ he was when he talked with his friends. He thought of his mother's words : “ _it makes them feel happier.”_

His phone was in his hand before he had even realized that he was stretching to get it. For the first time since... ever, he didn't take even a second to think about what he was doing.

  **Enjolras :** I'm sorry for what I said. Happy Christmas.

He didn't really expect an answer – at least, not now – but he did receive one, only half a minute later.

  **Grantaire :** I'm sorry too. Happy Christmas, Enjolras. See you at Courfeyrac's party ?

  **Enjolras :** Yes.

  **Grantaire :** Good :)

Enjolras fell asleep with a warm and comfortable feeling in his chest.

 

~ 

Courfeyrac's party included a lot of alcohol, of music, of dancing, and of _hugs._ The young man was in the brightest mood Enjolras had ever seen him yet and it seemed like he was determined to make everyone as happy as he was – which looked like it wouldn't be very difficult.

Marius and Cosette kept pushing each other under the countless mistletoe that decorated the flat to have a excuse to kiss, giggling madly in between. Jehan was all over Feuilly, massaging his head, kissing the back of his neck, while Feuilly, with a small smirk on his lips, recited lines of famous poems. Bahorel kept answering him with famous lines of terrible, cheesy songs. Eponine was dancing with Musichetta (the infamous girlfriend of Joly and Bossuet, that Enjolras hadn't met before) and winked regularly at Combeferre, who blushed and forgot what he said every time, making Joly and Bossuet died with laughter in turn. Courfeyrac and Grantaire were dancing, too, except it looked more like they were planning something devious when you looked closely. Sometimes, they interrupted their dancing to unexpectedly go hug someone.

Enjolras... Enjolras was watching all of this with a grin he didn't even try to smother, comfortably sitting between Combeferre and Feuilly.

"What does she keep doing this ?” Combeferre asked, after a new wink of Eponine, his cheeks still pink.

“Because she liiikes you.” Joly crooned with a wicked smile.

“Because she knows that you really, really like her too.” Bossuet added, laughing.

“You should kiss her at midnight !”

“What ?” Combeferre flushed even redder.

“You should.” Enjolras approved, incapable of resisting the amicable teasing. It was so rare to see his best friend losing his composure, for anything, and it was strangely delightful to get to know that Combeferre.

“Then you're going to kiss Grantaire ?” Combeferre asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oooh !” Joly grinned. “Did you finally admit your feelings, Enjolras ?”

“Don't listen to Combeferre !” Bossuet exclaimed. “You can't kiss him tonight ! I would loose the bet and I put quite a bit of money on your stubborness.”

Enjolras blinked and refused firmly to join his best friend in the blushing club.

“The bet ?” He repeated.

“... Never mind.” Bossuet smiled brightly. “You didn't deny Joly when he talked about feelings !”

“There are no feelings !” Enjolras protested.

“You're such a bad liar !” Combeferre laughed. “What are you doing in _Law_ , I swear !”

To be honest, Enjolras couldn't find it in himself to be mad, although he certainly wasn't ready to admit anything about Grantaire. The joyous atmosphere kept him from feeling anything else than cheerful, and so instead he just pretended to glare at his three friends and got up from the couch.

“I'm going to get drinks.” He said, falsely annoyed.

“Come back soon ! It's nearly midnight !” Bossuet shouted.

“And be sure to be close to him, or Courfeyrac will manage to get him first !” Joly added.

“Did you say my name, Jolllly ?” Courfeyrac asked, letting go of Grantaire's hips.

Enjolras shook his head fondly and went to the kitchen. He retrieved some beers for his friends and pour to himself a glass of water. It was cooler here than in the living-room, obviously, but he still felt very warm. His mind wandered swiftly between joyful thoughts, leaving him pleased and relaxed. To tell the truth, he had a hard time recalling if he had ever felt so content before.

“Enjolras ?”

Enjolras came back to reality and offered a smile to Jehan. “Yes ?”

“Joly and Bossuet sent me here because they said you needed me to write you a poem.” Jehan smiled back with a curious look.

“Joly and Bossuet are idiots.” Enjolras retorted.

“Is this about R ?”

“You too !”

“... Did you think you were discreet about it ? Because I'm sorry but you're really not.”

“I have a feeling that when this day will be over, I'm going to be very embarrassed about that.” Enjolras sighed.

“One should never be embarrassed about being in love, for there are no other feelings in the world that make you feel quite so alive.” Jehan said solemnly.

Enjolras's heart stopped beating for a dreadful second.

“I've never said anything about love.” He managed to said. “This is nothing else but... But a crush. People get those all the time, don't they ?”

Jehan smirked widely.

“ _JEHAN !_ ” Someone shouted from the living-room. “Come back here, I'm going to kiss you in _TEN. NINE – ”_

“Let's go !” Jehan took Enjolras by the hand quickly. “I do rather want to kiss Courfeyrac tonight.”

Enjolras followed the poet back in the main room. Musichetta was trapped between her boyfriends. Eponine was sitting on Combeferre's lap. Marius and Cosette were already kissing. Feuilly and Bahorel were eyeing each other with a mocking gleam in their eyes. Courfeyrac went to Jehan, beaming, and took his hands in his own. Grantaire turned to Enjolras, and smiled.

“ _TWO. ONE – HAPPY NEW YEAR !”_

Enjolras took the three steps that were separating him from Grantaire, put a hand behind his neck, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Grantaire immediately wrapped his arms around his waist. A little voice in the back of Enjolras's screamed _'victory'._

When they let go of each other, Enjolras looked determinedly at the other man and whispered : “Kissing people is fun.”

Grantaire laughed : “Then please stop looking so serious !”

"I'll be wild.” Enjolras promised.

Then he kissed Grantaire again and everything, at last, felt perfectly right. 

 

 

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> Um, I was planning on writing a second part to this, but I actually have a very hard time coming up with something which would be in the same tone of this, so I was thinking on turning it into a series instead, with different snippets of what happens next .. So. Yeah. sorry?


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